Making It Right
by Salty Peanuts
Summary: Decades after the split, wounds remain fresh. The bandages must be unwound, and the bad blood must be let before they can heal. Rochu. One-shot.


Hi there, this is an RP I did with homoerotic-confections on Tumblr. She allowed me to publish it, cause we thought it both went pretty well. She was Yao and I was Ivan.

This is set a few years after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, after the Russian economy has recovered a bit from the chaos. There was increased cooperation between China and the newly formed Russian Federation, both countries having walked beyond those old Soviet grudges.

Enjoy!

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This evening would be tense. The orient nation knew this, if nothing else. Its not as if he had a choice in the matter. When his country's leader told him to do something, he did it, whether he liked it or not.

And, he definitely _did not _like the idea of meeting with the Russian. Diplomacy had nary been an issue in the past. In fact, as Yao recalled, the two had been close. Allies, friends, and perhaps even something more. However, bitterness was more prominent than nostalgia in the mind, since grudges were easier to hold. Though Yao, for the life of him, could barely recall the reason for their most recent ire. But it happened all the same.

Waiting only made him more anxious about the whole ordeal. Ivan was not due for his visit until seven, but still, Yao found himself prepared at least an hour early. No, he would not be caught unawares by the Russian.

_You can't let idle squabbles ruin the image of our comradery_. His leader's words repeated in his head. A defeated sort of sigh escaped him as he prepared tea, only as a distraction from his thoughts.

* * *

The early morning train ride had not been kind to Ivan, but neither was the prospect of having to meet Yao after the last row they had. Yes, he realized that their countries' politics were more closely intertwined than ever. But, that didn't erase those ever-present memories that he wished he'd forgotten. The memories of their first meeting, their warm, tender nights, and their eventual split.

The split had been inevitable, and nothing could have stopped it. But, that didn't mean his heart hadn't been broken. Heck, Ivan didn't even know he had a heart before meeting Yao.

And now, Ivan wasn't particularly comfortable with having to dig up the deeply buried past, just because his boss told him to. Shaking his head, he bore his knuckle and gave Yao's office door three smart knocks. In the deathly silent corridor in which he stood, he could hear his chest pounding like a fist. He was sure that Yao could hear it too from behind the door.

* * *

The knocking did not go unheard. But even so, Yao paused, his heart sinking and settling in his stomach at the sound and the following silence. He took in a deep, sharp breath. This was no time to let buried emotions get the better of him. He was a strong and noble nation, and he could handle this, or so he hoped. Finally, after about two minutes had passed, Yao stepped across the room and answered the door. He stood tall (Or, rather, as tall as he could in comparison to the much taller man), and motioned for him to enter.

Yao knew some form of verbal greeting was in order. A mildly forced smile graced his lips.

"Hello, Ivan. I trust you are well.", His voice was kept even, without breaking. At the very least, perhaps that made up for the sad excuse for a smile he was wearing.

He gestured to an open seat, then sat down at the one across from it, folding his sweating hands neatly in his lap.

Ivan took the seat. He looked up at Yao and smiled back. "I'm well," he replied, and took the initiative to pour tea for the both of them. The delicate china trembled under his bearish hands, but he still managed to get the job done without much damage. He thrusted the porcelain cup forwards, and motioned for Yao to take it.

"Drink?" He asked earnestly.

Yao took the cup gently, ignoring the brush of their fingers in the exchange. He held it somberly for a moment, allowing the warmth to seep into his chilled hands.

"I am not entirely certain why we were made to meet this way," he muttered, staring down into the contents of his teacup— a welcoming distraction from the man sitting just across from him.

Of course, it was a lie. Or at least half of one. He knew why Ivan was here. He just was not sure of what to do about it.

Ivan didn't know how to start the conversation. It had been so many years since they had spoken to each other, and not to mention, their last encounter had resulted in a bloody fight. He remembered it like a recent memory, and in a way, it was. To a nation, a mere thirty years felt like yesterday.

_That _night was the worst night of his life. Sheer, blind anger had driven Ivan to do something he had promised to never do— hit Yao. The numerous bickering episodes and bitter threats had made him question the love he had once felt for the other man, and in a quick snap of restraint, he did the unthinkable.

Yao didn't say anything in response, but looked at him with a certain inexplicable sadness that made Ivan's stomach drop to the floor. And from then on, Ivan's nightmares had come back.

But now, Ivan figured the best way to make amends was to forget about the past. Looking up at him, he asked, "So Yao, how have you been?"

Yao glanced slowly up from his cup and allowed his eyes to level with the other man's. There was little emotion in their amber depths. He was never an open book to begin with.. But now all seemed shut out. There was a wall behind those eyes.

"The same as I ever have." He stated.

A simple, measured response. He brought the tea to his lips only to find that it had quickly gone cold. Somewhat disheartened by the fact, he set it down, folding his hands again in his lap.

Another moment of silence had passed; Yao's stomach was beginning to feel sick. This wasn't fair, forcing them together like this. He shouldn't have to be thinking so much about the past.

It was supposed to be over!

So, why was the buried fondness making him ache inside? He had locked it away so long ago, locked it away and vowed to let it die. _He thought it had died!_

But it didn't.

Yao's gaze lowered again. His bangs hung over his eyes. "...It is nice to see you."

It was a quick, curt admission. It was almost obvious that he was not happy that... well, no... He _was_ happy to see the Russian.

Ivan blinked. "You're lying." He said.

It really didn't take much to figure out. There was no way that Yao was _actually_ happy to see him. If he sincerely was, Ivan wouldn't even know what to do but drop dead in front of his eyes. Setting all the anger and hatred aside, Ivan must admit that he had been in love with Yao ever since they first met all those years ago. The tenderness was still there, and the aching and yearning, no matter how much he tried to forget.

Yao removed his hands from his lap and placed them on the desk. He kept his eyes closed for a few moments, and opened them afterwards.

"You never were a good judge of character," Yao spoke again softly. Volume would not be his friend if he wanted to remain calm. He shifted in his seat. "And even if I am lying, this is what my people want me to do. I am bound by duty, just the same as you."

Ivan chuckled, and as he did, Yao felt his fingers twitch. He dismissed merely as the cold of the room.

Then, Ivan took a leap of faith.

"You're still in love with me, Yao," He said barely, with a knot in his throat, "You can't wait to be with me again, and that's why you invited me here."

Because Yao had kept his head down, Ivan was able stare at him without him knowing. Oh Yao... His face, his eyes, his lips, all looked as beautiful as ever. It was as if he had not changed at all, while Ivan was growing older by the second.

There was no point in lying to himself now, he wanted Yao back. This silent battle of pride was becoming really boring to him, and he would gladly surrender if it meant that he could have Yao in his arms again.

Immediately, Yao's gaze lifted, meeting the other man's. "..I..You.." Yao stuttered, his words faltering. He felt his eyes beginning to water. _No tears_, he told himself. He would not allow himself to cry. Instead, he allowed his expression change to one of anger.

"I said no such thing!" As Yao shouted the words, his fist was brought down roughly upon the desk.

After the impact, it felt as if Yao's last bit of strength was spent. The ruse had withered away. He looked down again. Tears softly fell from his face onto the surface of his desk, tiny droplets, tiny insecurities and fears made tangible.

"I never…said that..." Yao repeated much softer.

"Look at me, Yao." Ivan said, tipping the other man's chin up.

Those eyes, they were the same as ever. As soft as melting caramel, and yet as sharp, determined as those of a hawk. Delicate and vulnerable, but swelling with iron-branded determination. From head to toe, Yao was an oxymoron, a being existing on the thin plane between reality and make-believe, like a fairy, or an angel. Or, that was what Ivan had always imagined him to be.

Ivan wanted to get to the bottom of this riddle, to make something so beautiful a part of him. Tilting his body forwards, he gently pressed Yao's lips to his. For a brief second, Ivan felt that his world was complete.

As they were brought together, a small sound stifled in the Chinese man's throat, a whimper of both objection and defeat.

His eyes shift closed. A familiar but distant feeling enveloped him. It was easy to admit to himself how much he had missed this, too easy.

Soon, Yao pulled away. His fingers brushed his own lips. It was not easy to take the great Wang Yao off guard, but the Russian had done it. And now, at a loss for words, Yao stared at him. How should he act indifferent now? As if it was not hard enough to begin with.

How could he pretend that he did not care when it was so clearly written on his face?

"...It is unkind to play games with my emotions.", Yao murmured softly. His hand fell away from his lips and balled in a fist at his side. A part of him wanted to strike the other man for doing something like that without his permission.

"Then I won't," Ivan replied simply. Looking up, he said, "Want to make it right again?"

_Make it right again_... The words slowly sunk in, a prospect that he was both longing for and loathing. But, this farce had gone on long enough. A small smile formed on his lips, and he reached out, lightly grasping the other man's hand.

"...Yes. I think that would be best."

**Fin.**

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Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Please review to tell me what you think. :)


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